


who ya gonna call?

by orphan_account



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: F/M, this is the longest fic i've ever written, you hags appreciate it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 04:45:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9476312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: or, the one where elistrick gets sp00py.credit to a for the prompt and any motivation i have for writing this lmao





	

"I can't believe you made me agree to this," Patrick huffed, a cloud of white forming on his breath.

"It'll be fun, come on," Elisa groaned, dragging him along the surprisingly empty sidewalk, void of people who were staying home in the warm, comfy beds.

Patrick was jealous of them. So. Jealous.

"Babe, you have your own ghost, right at home," he said. "I'm pale enough to be terrifying."

It was true, especially when he stood contrast against the night sky.

Elisa rolled her eyes. "Yeah, but I want more."

"Oh, am I not satisfying your ghostly needs?" Patrick said. "Do I need to be scarier? Slam a few more doors?"

She shook her head. "Come on, you're too nice to be a ghost," she pointed out as they reached one of the most cliche graveyard entrances Patrick had ever seen. He was sure the place had been built to be a tourist trap.

A small group had already gathered near a small shed-like building. An overly-smiley tour guide approached them and they showed their tickets.

"Great! I hope you two have fun tonight, it's a great time to see a ghost around this time of year!" the tour guide said.

Patrick and Elisa stood off from the group, never having been ones to socialize easily. They filled the silence with a pointless debate on the authenticity of this so-called ghost spotting tour.

"Come on, it's got the sharp fence, it's got the creepy gate, it's got the crumbly graves and the mausoleum or whatever, there's no way this wasn't like, made for the express purpose of taking the money of poor gullible tourists," Patrick argued. "If I were a ghost, this is last spot I'd choose to try to haunt."

"I mean, you're partly right, it is really cliche," Elisa reasoned. "But ghosts aren't always so choose-y about where they haunt, like you seem to be. They probably don't even get to have a choice. They're probably just sprung into wherever they died or something."

Patrick raised his eyebrow. "So how many people actually die in a cemetery? Because that's your logic."

"I said or something!"

The point was moot, though, because the guide was beginning the tour, rattling off some stuff that made it seem like he didn't hate his job before launching into a lengthy history lecture about the cemetery. Patrick didn't bother to listen. It wouldn't make the experience any more "real" than they were trying to make it, so it was just as pointless as debating how "real" it actually was.

They began to move through the cold night through the cemetery, and the group was eerily silent. He'd never admit it, but Patrick was actually starting to get uneasy. It's just the atmosphere, he told himself. It's nothing.

They stopped at some grave of a supposed ghost, and Patrick tuned out again, letting his thoughts drift to the leftovers he was gonna have as soon as they got home. Then Elisa whispered something in his ear that he didn't catch, so he turned to her.

"What was that, Lisa?" he whispered.

Elisa looked at him, confused. "I didn't say anything," she whispered, then paid her attention back to the tour guide.

"Don't play with me," he chuckled, although there was a hint of anxious nerve to it.

"I'm not," she whispered.

And then Patrick knew she wasn't lying, because he could always tell when she was. Probably just the wind, he told himself. Hearing things.

Then it was clear as a bell in his ear - the words "turn back".

Except, it couldn't be Elisa. It was a masculine voice. It was too deep to be her. And they were at the back of group, no one near them - so the question arose: who was it?

A chill went down his spine, and for his sanity's sake, he raised his hand.

"Yes?" the guide asked.

"Are there any male ghosts that haunt around here?"

"A few, why?"

"Nothing."

Elisa turned to him as the guide continued, a smirk on her face. "I told you," she mumbled.

He shook his head and rolled his eyes in response as they continued on.

Patrick started paying half attention to the guide, and he convinced himself it was because he had nothing else to do, but in reality, he just wanted an explanation. And maybe he believed. A little bit.

Only a little bit. And he'd never tell Elisa that.

They were halfway through a story about a girl that reminded him a lot of a story he heard as a kid when he noticed something in the distance. Something pale, almost white, strangely human shaped and... approaching them?

Patrick's blood ran cold.

"Elisa, can we get out of here?" he said, not taking his eyes off the thing that was getting slowly closer.

"Why? We've barely just started," Elisa said. "Don't tell me you're already bored."

"No, it's just, I've, uh, got... work stuff... to do... " he trailed off, and took a hold of her hand.

"You've always got work stuff," she sighed, and recoiled her hand. "Hey, stop, you're hurting me."

"Sorry, darling," he mumbled, still trained on the thing, and it wasn't showing any signs of stopping soon.

Patrick looked around, frantic. Did no one... did no one else see it? Oh God, he was going to get him and his wife killed by a poltergeist and it'd be because he was too chicken to say anything... oh no...

It started running, and so did Patrick, dragging Elisa along.

"Patrick!" she shrieked. "What the hell? Patrick!"

He didn't stop until they were out on the sidewalk, and the only reason he did was because he was out of breath. Curse his terrible lungs.

Patrick looked back at the group, distant now. He wanted to go back, wanted to run and warn the guide because that person was approaching him, coming up on him and...

The guide was laughing?

"Oh my God," he whispered, embarrassment rising on his cheeks and in his chest.

Elisa laughed when she realized what was happening. "Patrick, it was fake," she said. "You ran from a fake ghost. A person in white paint. Oh my God, and you said it wasn't real!"

Patrick looked at his shoes. "I mean, it looked real, and... I don't know."

She took his hand again. "Don't worry, I'll only tease you about this for forever."

He huffed out a sigh. Then a giggle. Then a chuckle. And then, he couldn't help but break out in loud laugh at the situation.

Elisa laughed with him as they walked down the sidewalk, back towards their house, hand-in-hand. It wasn't long until they had to stop and lean against each other so they didn't collapse, cackling at Patrick's momentary stupidity.

"You... you thought it was... it was real," Elisa stuttered out between fits of adorable, sunny giggles.

Patrick nodded, unable to verbally communicate. He wrapped his arms around Elisa, completely dependent on her to stop him from falling to the concrete.

When the laughter died down, finally, they just stood there, smiling, content, supporting one another. Patrick had a passing thought about how he'd never be able to laugh at himself like this before he met Elisa. It was pushed to the back of his head, filed for later, shoved out by the feeling of her lips on his.

Another passing thought came through his mind. It was something about how Patrick would most definitely haunt Elisa when he died if he had the choice. And then something about her inevitable death would be a bit more bearable if she haunted him.

Right now, he didn't care.

Right now, all he could really think about was how Elisa could keep him warm through a Chicago blizzard with her kiss.


End file.
